


Evil Deeds

by soitgoes2142



Series: Little Father, Little Daughter [2]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bisexual Celegorm because why not, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Dynamics, Fem!Curufin, Gen, Mother-Son Relationship, Politics, Some Humor, This time I gave elves baby bjorns and charcuterie plates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:08:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26133985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soitgoes2142/pseuds/soitgoes2142
Summary: A re-telling of the evil deeds of Curufin and Celegorm, which involve a mechanical boy, a glowing girl, a large dog, a golden king, and flickers of hope.*This is story is set in the same universe as "Little Father, Little Daughter," where Curufin is female, the only daughter of Feanor. It doesn't need to be read first, but provides additional context.*
Relationships: Beren Erchamion/Lúthien Tinúviel
Series: Little Father, Little Daughter [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897735
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. The Mechanical Boy

_Be warned: This is a story from Arda Marred. There is always more to lose._

Death and destruction should not have hinged on her son’s upturned, eager face. But in the darkness that followed the Battle of Sudden Flame, it did. 

Curufin sat by the fire with her son and her dearest brother, and contemplated all that they had lost. The siege of Angband had been broken with decisiveness and fury. A dragon roared, a king rode to his death, orcs swarmed over the land. It was unclear how many lay dead on the battlefields, how many leaders of the Noldor now wandered the Halls of Mandos. 

All Curufin knew was that the home she had built with blood and sweat on the shores Beleriand was gone. It had been a good, rich land between two rivers. It had been hers. Hers and Celegorm’s. 

\--

Curufin remembered when she and her brothers split the territory Thingol had granted them in the east, not long after Maedhros gave up the high king’s crown. They gathered around their eldest brother’s bed, so Maedhros could rest and sketch a map left-handed. He was still too skinny, the scars angry and raised. Curufin heard her mother’s voice in her ear, imploring her to brush back his hair, to feed him until he burst. But Curufin had never been much for cooking. She wrestled the impulse down. 

Maedhros drew rivers and boundaries, mapping their futures in a childlike hand. “I will hold the north with Maglor,” said Maedhros. “And Amrod and Amras have stated their desire to head south.” The twins, not so young anymore, nodded in unison. “Caranthir has an interest in the mountains, so I say he should hold the east.” “Very well,” Caranthir agreed, as Maedhros shakily penned his name besides the Ered Luin mountain range. Maedhros looked up at his remaining siblings. “Celegorm and Curufin,” he said. “You could build settlements in the west, close to the borders of Doriath.” He paused. “Do you wish to have your own lands, or lead your people together?” 

Curufin was taken aback by the question, though one promise of leaving Aman had been freedom. They could build new cities, new forms of government, see the world beyond the Valar’s gilded cage. She had known her brothers would scatter eventually. They would need to divide to keep the Enemy at bay. But by the shores of Lake Mithrim they had kept their dwellings arranged in a family compound, the layout familiar from their home in Formenos, and before that, in Tirion. Curufin and her brothers had always been on top of each other, their lives woven together. When they swore their oath, they did it in one heartbeat, with one voice. 

Still, if Curufin had to strike out on her own, she could. She would always have Celebrimbor. Her son who had turned long-legged and broad-shouldered on the lakeshore, her son who was becoming a man. Curufin was steel, Curufin was fire. She could handle _alone_. 

And then Celegorm spared her from answering. “Where Curufin and Celebrimbor go, I go,” Celegorm said simply. “Done,” said Maedhros, and scrawled _Celegorm and Curufin_ over the western marches, the rich land between two rivers. 

Later that night, Curufin went to see her brother. She didn’t know what to say to Celegorm, who was bold and brash and sometimes cruel, but never to her. When she entered he was repairing his riding boots. He had a slightly smaller pair beside him. Curufin knew without looking too closely that the boots belonged to her son. 

Celegorm was good like that. He took care of the little things, the things a growing boy needed, when they flitted to the back of Curufin’s mind. All her brothers had helped raise her son, but Celegorm had taught Celebrimbor to ride and fish and hunt. They fed Huan together, and when he was small Celegorm sometimes let the boy sleep in the curve of the huge dog’s flank. 

After Alqualonde, when Curufin was still shaking, Celegorm took her to the water’s edge and made her wade in. He pushed her head under the waves, until she returned to herself and cursed and flailed against him. When they retrieved her son from the rearguard, Celebrimbor buried his small face in Curufin’s tunic. He said “Mama, you’re all wet,” and there were no bloodstains. That, too, was Celegorm. 

Curufin sat down beside her brother and watched him work. They didn’t need to say much. But still, Curufin put her hand on his for a moment. Very quietly, she said _thank you_.

\--

But that was long ago. After the Battle of Sudden Flame all was bleak. Curufin’s beautiful forge, Celegorm’s well-stocked stables, the homes and fortifications of their people - it was all ash and dust. The creatures of the Enemy had poured through Maglor’s Gap, decimated Angrod and Aegnor, driven Fingolfin to the point of despair. Celegorm and Curufin fought with their people until Balrogs forced them into a hasty retreat. Then messages poured in from all sides. _We are not strong enough_ and _the horde is surging_ and _please, send help, please they’re all dead_. Celegorm and Curufin’s people gathered what they could from the rich land between two rivers, and fled. 

And now Curufin sat, with her brother and her son, somewhere in the woods north of Doriath. They had no home, and the fire burned low. 

“Where should we lead our people?” said Curufin, to the air and the emptiness. “I don’t know,” Celebrimbor replied. He was grown, but still young as the Noldor counted such things. He looked small in his armor, grimy and shaken. He shifted closer to the fire, to Curufin. She reached a hand out and touched his hair, gently. His head found her shoulder. 

Celegorm groaned. He was splayed out horizontally on the other side of the fire. Curufin had bound his ribs after some particularly determined orcs knocked him from his saddle. Curufin herself bore a nasty wound on her scalp. She rubbed at the flaking blood, remembered she had told Celebrimbor it looked worse than it felt. They sat in the pain for a moment.

“We could go to Maedhros,” Celegorm said. Curufin sighed. “All accounts say Maglor fell back to Himring. They’ll be overcrowded, and still fending off the Enemy.” “We can keep going west,” Celegorm offered, waving a hand vaguely above his head. “We’d get to Fingon eventually.” Curufin considered this. “Fingon is High King now. If Himring holds, Maedhros will make his way to Fingon. To pay obeisance and such.” “And such,” said Celegorm, and managed to snicker. 

Celebrimbor looked worried. “Fingon’s lands are far. We’d have to cross mountains.” He hesitated. “Some of the wounded are in bad shape. And many people left our settlement at a moment’s warning. They have children, horses, livestock.” “You’re right,” Curufin told her son. “We won’t make it.” She ticked options off on her fingers. “Doriath would never take us. Amrod and Amras are too distant.” 

Celegorm rolled onto his side, forgetting his ribs, and made a pained sound. Then he looked at his sister. “I have an idea,” he said, a smile finding his face. “But you won’t like it. Who’s the blondest bastard in our family, after me?” Curufin closed her eyes. 

“Finrod,” she answered, regretting everything. 

\--

Curufin had never liked the children of Finarfin much. It was like they had too much inside them - Noldorin and Telerin and Vanyarin. It made them a bit odd. They polished their jewels and listened to the sea and spoke to gods. As a rule, Curufin distrusted gods. 

Curufin respected Galadriel for her ambition and her unforgiving pride. Aegnor and Angrod stayed out of her way. In the dawn days of Aman, Orodreth was too young to be of consequence. It was Finrod who rubbed her the wrong way. He was glittering and golden and talented, yes. But he seemed to think the world was his, because he could hold his own in a debate with Maedhros and had beaten Maglor in a singing competition. Once. 

Finrod was arrogant, and he was _curious_. Curufin had nothing against knowledge or technique. But secrets were important to her. And Finrod had never met a mystery he could stay away from. 

One day in Aman sealed Curufin’s dislike of Finrod. There was some ball, a palace function of the sort Curufin usually avoided, not long after Celebrimbor’s birth. Her mother and brothers implored her to come, and they had a fair point that she had barely left the house since Celebrimbor came into the world. (Curufin was still having difficulty not getting lost in the wonder of her son’s hands, the softness of his dark curls. Sometimes she just wanted to sit in her favorite chair and smell him. Being a mother was rather disgusting). 

Feanor offered to stay back with the baby. He was taking any chance in those days to avoid brushing up against his extended family. Curufin loved and trusted her father more than almost anything in the world. But separating from her son felt like ripping out a small and vital organ. Like her spleen. “I’ll go,” she told her parents. “If I can take Celebrimbor with me.” 

They dug out a contraption Feanor had crafted in his early days of fatherhood. A sling with ties and straps, to secure a baby to a parent’s chest. Curufin put on her nice tunic and knotted her father’s invention over it. Nerdanel placed Celebrimbor in the sling. With her son snuggled against her, Curufin went to the party. 

Curufin noticed Finrod while feeling hot and tired and out of place in a corner. As was usually the case, her brothers and mother had abandoned her eventually, drawn into the dancing or whisked away by smiling friends. Curufin was not a particularly social person. She preferred the company of blacksmiths to courtiers. Those who worked the forge knew how to be quiet, and how to recognize simple beauty. Finrod, on the other hand, knew how to work a ball. 

It was almost like he was glowing, slipping from conversation to conversation with ease, bringing bright eyes and a musical laugh. He had an equally blonde Vanyarin beauty on his arm, and a smile for _everyone_. Even Curufin. 

She had made a mistake, looking too long. Finrod caught her eye, and steered towards her through the fawning courtiers. Another fact about Finrod was that he liked a challenge. 

Finarfin’s eldest son parked himself in front of Curufin, and the baby all wrapped up and tied to her chest. “Well met, little cousin!” he smiled, and his Vanyarin companion smiled as well. “Half-cousin,” Curufin corrected shortly. “Indeed,” said Finrod. “This is Amarie. I don’t think you’ve met.” “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the Vanya, all golden hair and teeth. “I didn’t know Feanor had a daughter, but I’ve seen your father speak. You look just like him.” 

“Thank you,” said Curufin, who always took a compliment. Celebrimbor squirmed against her chest, and poked a hand out of his sling. Finrod’s eyes widened. “Is that your son? I have yet to meet the newest addition to the family.” “Few have,” said Curufin. “My brothers might be open books, but I like to keep things private.” 

Finrod smiled wider. He leaned in conspiratorially. “I do know how you value your privacy. It’s rather the buzz of Tirion, who might be the father of your child.” Finrod lowered his voice even farther, prompting Amarie to lean in too. “I was wondering, little cousin,” ( _half cousin_ , thought Curufin venomously) “if you might share your secret with me.” 

The _nerve_ of Finrod. The utter arrogance. 

Curufin glanced around the room, as if gauging who else could hear their conversation. She leaned in and whispered to Finrod and Amarie. “I’ll tell you, if you swear to keep this knowledge to yourselves. Only my parents and brothers know the truth.” Two golden heads nodded solemnly. 

Curufin took a deep breath. She drew Celebrimbor, blinking and sleepy-eyed, out from the sling, and set him on her lap. “The truth is,” Curufin said, “my son has no father. I made him.” Amarie’s brow furrowed, and Finrod opened his mouth. Curufin pressed on. “He’s a...well there’s no word yet for what he is. Jewels and swords started to bore me, and so I set myself this challenge, to create a mechanical boy, all on my own.” Now Amarie’s eyes were wide, and wonder was settling on Finrod’s face. Celebrimbor cooed and reached for a strand of Curufin’s hair. “Are the movements not lifelike? The eyelashes took me a long, long time,” said Curufin. “If only I could figure out the voice...perhaps in time.” 

Amarie’s lips were still parted. “I had heard of your father’s genius, but I had no idea that the Noldor could do such things!” Finrod was a little flushed with the joy of discovery. The rush of being let in on proprietary knowledge. “Curufin, thank you for...I’m astonished, truly, this technology could be used in so many ways. Your mechanical boy could change the way we think about life, about beauty and motion and intelligence- ” And then Finrod cut himself off, because he had looked more closely at Curufin’s face. 

She was biting her lip, hard. Finrod’s face fell. “You’re laughing at us,” he said. Finrod looked at Celebrimbor, who was drooling a little and had managed to get some of Curufin’s hair in his mouth. “He’s just a baby.” Curufin’s serious face broke apart, and she laughed long and hard. Even she could admit, a little meanly. They had just been so _sincere_. 

“Excuse me,” said Curufin, when she regained her composure, “for keeping something for myself.” She smiled coldly at Amarie. “It was a pleasure to meet you. Now if you don’t mind, I need to go change my son’s diaper. If I had made a mechanical boy, he certainly wouldn’t shit this much. Good day.” 

Curufin swept out of the ball and into a future where Finrod was perhaps her least favorite cousin. 

\--

But in the darkness after the Battle of Sudden Flame, Curufin closed her eyes and thought. Celegorm was right. Finrod was their best bet. For the safety of her people, for the safety of her son. 

Celegorm took another deep breath, pressing a hand to his bruised ribs. “Nargothrond is close, it’s growing, it’s hidden. They’ll take us in.”A small part of Curufin still wanted to argue, to consider other options. And then Celebrimbor looked up. 

“Nargothrond?” her son said. There was an eager light kindled in his face. He looked hopeful. “Finrod gathered the finest artisans to plan his city, to hew the great caves. I heard his kingdom has the beauty of Menegroth, the strength of Himring, and the wealth of Tirion!” Celebrimbor made a quiet sound, a dreaming sound. He was a gentler person than he should have been. “I would love to see it.” 

And in that dark place, something in Curufin’s heart shifted and melted. She opened her mouth: “Tomorrow, we ride for Nargothrond.” 

Later, historians would say they should have stayed in the east, among their own. 


	2. The Glowing Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curufin rebuilds, reconsiders, recalculates. Really, she didn't expect to run into Luthien. It just happened.

When their people reached the guarded plain, Curufin and Celegorm and Celebrimbor rode ahead. They dug the colors of the House of Feanor out of their packs, and loudly proclaimed their names and titles. Soon enough, the scouts of Nargothrond materialized out of the shadows. Curufin would have sagged with relief, but she didn’t care to share desperation. 

They were led by hidden paths into the caves. Celebrimbor looked about with wonder. The craftsmanship was remarkable, Curufin had to admit. It was a strange and beautiful mixture of elven and dwarven handiwork. “Look at these pillars,” said Celebrimbor, lightly touching a stone column carved into the shape of a tree. It had creeping stone moss and individual stone leaves. Celebrimbor stroked a delicate burst of stone flower. “These must be inspired by the caves of Menegroth. It would be amazing to see Doriath first-hand, too.” 

Curufin was worn out and still hurting. “You would never be permitted to set foot in Doriath,” she admonished her son. “You’re a prince of the Noldor, with blood on your hands by association. Besides, you wouldn’t be allowed to speak your mother tongue.” Celebrimbor looked annoyed, his daydream punctured. “I’ll speak Sindarin, then,” he said, switching from Quenya to the language of Beleriand. His Sindarin was not quite fluid, but still better than Curufin’s command of the language. She clicked her tongue impatiently. It was bad enough that her son had started using “s” instead of “þ.” 

“Stop bickering,” hissed Celegorm. His great dog Huan padded at his side, as the scouts led them to a grand entrance hall. And there was Finrod, as golden and smiling as ever, bedecked in jewels to greet the refugees. Though on closer inspection, Curufin noticed he looked a little worse for wear. She had heard fragmented reports of Finrod narrowly escaping death on the battlefield. Something about those strange humans, and a ring? Finrod was moving stiffly. She wondered whether the sumptuous robes hid bandages. 

Still Finrod smiled, and held out his arms. “Cousins! It is good to see you alive,” he said, and greeted them in turn. “Well met, Celegorm,” Finrod wheezed, as Celegorm gave him a crushing embrace that must have been painful for them both. “My dear Curufin,” he said solemnly, and she permitted him to kiss her cheek. “The mechanical boy!” Finrod said to Celebrimbor, and went in for a hug. Celebrimbor made a confused face over Finrod’s shoulder. Curufin rolled her eyes.

Finrod stepped back and turned more serious. “My scouts have gathered in many stragglers and survivors from the battle, but none so numerous as your people. Is it true your lands were completely overrun?” “Yes,” said Celegorm. “We had nowhere else to go,” Curufin admitted. Finrod spread his hands benevolently. “Well, you are welcome to stay here with your people as long as you choose. Nargothrond is a hidden city, a place of safety, and ever-growing. We expand our caves daily.” Finrod looked at Celebrimbor, measuring his age and his innocence. “We can certainly put you to work. If you have half your mother’s talent, Nargothrond will be better for it.” Celebrimbor nodded vigorously. 

Finrod was overflowing with generosity, so sweet it was almost sickening. Curufin swallowed, torn between need and distaste. But when Celegorm bowed low, Curufin followed him. Celebrimbor’s face almost hit the floor in gratitude. “Thank you, King Finrod,” Celegorm intoned. Finrod waved the words away. “Much has been lost. But we will grow strong again, together.” 

Somehow, Curufin doubted it. 

\---

And yet those first fews years proved her wrong. Curufin, Celegorm, Celebrimbor, and all their people were woven into the fabric of Nargothrond. From the very first, Celebrimbor was enchanted with his new home, with its artisans and its project of hewing ever deeper, more protected caves. Curufin had trained her son well in the forge. Celebrimbor quickly made himself useful, and drew the eyes of Nargothrond’s master smiths and craftsmen. It was clear to see that his hands moved with speed and intricacy rarely seen among the Noldor. Celebrimbor was a good listener, a good student. Like his father. 

In time, Curufin and Celegorm also found their places in Finrod’s kingdom. Curufin flew from the rich land between two rivers with her favorite hammer, and established herself in the forge. She could churn out weapons like no one else in the hidden kingdom (she had learned from the best). The Nargothrond apprentices sometimes gathered to watch her work, and whisper about oaths and curses. But she became a friend of the most fearsome warriors, who came to her for repairs and improvements. Soon enough they followed technical discussions with wine or mead and spoke of things other than war. 

Celegorm took to the woods often. He rode with the scouts and learned their secrets of deception and camouflage, Huan running besides him. As ever, he cycled through their beds. Celegorm quickly had old and new flames hanging on his every word, his easy charm. 

And Finrod gave them even more. In those first few days, Finrod gifted Curufin and Celegorm with well-appointed apartments, and welcomed them to his council of advisors. Finrod was king, but he heeded the leaders of the Sindarin and Avari factions among his people. He cared about the opinion of his head architect. He listened to Orodreth, his younger brother, who dwelt in Nargothrond with his wife and children. Remarkably, the golden bastard seemed to care what Curufin and Celegorm thought about the way he ran his kingdom. 

Curufin was considering the possibility that Finrod had grown less irritating over the years. She was starting to like Nargothrond. 

And then the human arrived. 

Beren, son of Barahir, came walking across the guarded plain, as desperate and defenseless as Curufin and her family had been. The man had no house colors and fewer titles to proclaim, but he had a ring. And the ring gave him a claim on Finrod the golden, Finrod of the open hands. Finrod who could not resist a secret wrapped up in a challenge. 

Finrod locked himself and Beren behind closed doors. The rumors flew. There were whispers of _Doriath_ and _forbidden love_ and _Morgoth_ and _Silmaril, Silmaril, Silmaril_. Something both cold and hot ran through Curufin’s veins when she heard that word. She paced their apartments, from her room to Celebrimbor’s to Celegorm’s. She found her brother vibrating with restless energy, Huan whining despondently. She tried to work the forge. She wanted to run or scream or at the very least bend something to her will.

When Celebrimbor appeared to tell her breathlessly that Finrod would address the people in the great cave, resolve had settled coldly in Curufin’s stomach. She glanced at Celegorm and saw the same sentiment in the angry lines of his face. A stupid human with no claim to their father’s jewels would not bring down everything they had built and rebuilt. Curufin and Celegorm would not lose their home again.

\--

In the great cave Finrod spoke. He wore his finery and his gemstones, but he was strangely subdued as he told the story of his promise to Barahir, his obligation to Beren. He told the people that Beren planned to steal a Silmaril from the Enemy’s crown, and win the hand of Luthien, beautiful princess of Doriath. Finrod was brave and loyal and golden. He was going to join the quest. 

The king invoked the strengths of Nargothrond, the skills of his people in disguise and secrecy. Though solemn, Finrod still glowed with that inner light. That certainty in his own goodness. In the crowd, Celegorm fumed and Curufin seethed. Celebrimbor bit his nails raw. 

After what seemed like a long list of exhortations and half-formed plans from Finrod (Curufin dismissed the scrawny-looking Beren, who spoke little), there was a dreadful quiet. Memories of the Battle of Sudden Flame, the devastation that brought a flood of refugees to Finrod’s caves, drifted about the room. The king of Nargothrond looked to his advisors. His imploring eyes sought support for Beren’s quest. In the silence and uncertainty, Celegorm exploded. 

“How dare you speak of stealing Silmarils before the children of Feanor, and those who followed him out of Valinor! How dare you swap my father’s creations, for which the Enemy killed my grandfather, in your petty love games!” Beren, though on a dais above the crowd, stepped back from Celegorm’s burning fury. Curufin’s brother turned to the crowd. He had always been very persuasive when he got himself worked up. 

“Finrod may be bound to help this idiot in his need,” Celegorm roared, “But I forbid my people from aiding Beren in his misguided quest. Seeking to break a Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown is an insult to my family and a death wish besides.” There was murmuring and nodding in the crowd, and not just among the Noldor who followed Celegorm and Curufin. Some of the Sindar who resided in Nargothrond had little love for Thingol and his theatrics. When they could help it, the Avari preferred to keep out of anything related to the Enemy. 

Curufin measured the fear wafting over the crowd, the opening cracks between factions, the frozen smile on Finrod’s face. She might owe Finrod something, but Beren nothing at all. Curufin opened her mouth. “My brother speaks the truth,” she began. “Finrod and Beren believe they can capture a Silmaril by stealth. But I know what happens to those who try to outwit the great Enemy, who chased my people from our home not so long ago.” Curufin drew on memories from centuries past, times of hopelessness by Lake Mithrim. She breathed anguish into the crowd. “Ask my brother Maedhros what happens when you think you are smarter than Morgoth! He lost decades of his life. His face. His _hand._ And he was very, very, lucky.” 

Curufin raised her voice. The crowd turned to her now, and Celegorm stood tall and blonde and fierce by her side. “Your king would have you follow this human into a den of wolves! You will not emerge. You will die...or you will live. And like my brother you will be tortured until you tell the Enemy everything you have ever known. You will betray those you love and you will betray Nargothrond, this hidden kingdom I have come to call my home.” Curufin looked squarely at Finrod. There was resignation behind his eyes. “Go,” she said to him. “Fulfill your oath. That I can understand. But the fewer companions you take with you, the greater chance we all have of surviving your inevitable failure.” And the crowd was quiet, and no one met the eye of their glorious, golden king. 

\--

In the end Finrod left with little ceremony, with only Beren and ten companions. They donned the grey cloaks of the scouts and slipped away into the night. Finrod left the kingship with his brother Orodreth, who wore the crown poorly. The youngest son of Finarfin had always preferred a quiet life in the shadows, which was understandable considering the towering personalities of his siblings. When he addressed the council he was by turns indecisive and bereaved. The kingdom suffered for it. 

But Curufin could breathe again. It was a pity that Finrod had to make that promise. That one more of her half-cousins would come to a terrible end, wrecked on the rocks of the implacable Enemy. She had been starting to appreciate Finrod, to understand his balance of arrogance and kindness, superficiality and foresight. But Finrod’s departure ( _death, death,_ _she knew it was death_ ) meant Curufin still had a home. Her son still had a home. A safe place to learn and forge and sometimes even dream. Finrod and Beren could not possibly succeed. They would die, the oath would sleep. Only the Enemy would remain. 

\--

 _She_ changed the calculus. 

Curufin and Celegorm stumbled upon her. It was Huan’s fault, really, if one wanted to talk about blame. 

A charged and suffocating mood still lingered in Nargothrond weeks after Finrod’s abdication. Curufin believed it was mostly fear, with a sprinkling of guilt. It was too late now to do anything but wait for news of Finrod and Beren, their inevitable demise after a failed quest. 

Celegorm and Curufin rode away from it all. In the woods, out along the river Narog, into the heart of southern Beleriand. They still found the southern lands strange and delightful, and hunted near the border with Doriath. Huan led the way, great flanks rising and falling, his nose twitching. Curufin breathed in the greenness, the feel of the sun on her skin. She had gotten used to a life underground, the distinctly Nargothrond smell of water over stone. 

And then one day, Huan stopped in the middle of tracking and began to howl, and then to race away through the trees. Curufin looked at Celegorm, who shrugged and urged his horse after the dog. 

When they caught up to Huan he was baying and lashing his tail in anticipation. The dog was barking at what looked like a patch of shadow that had detached itself from the night. It hovered strangely in the sunshine. Curufin had her hand on the hilt of her sword, fearful of some new invention of the Enemy- 

And then the darkness opened her cloak, and Celegorm and Curufin saw Luthien. 

She was the most beautiful and the most terrible thing Curufin had ever seen (and Curufin had birthed a child). 

The woman who stepped out of the darkness was otherworldly. She looked not quite like any creature Curufin had ever seen. Her hair was long and dark and alive-seeming, curling and undulating under its own power. Her skin glowed with a silver light that reminded Curufin of Telperion’s beams, the twilight of the ancient world. When the woman opened her mouth, her voice had the cadence of birdsong. At her side, Curufin felt Celegorm give a full-body shiver. 

“Greetings,” said the glowing woman, who had stepped out of darkness and nearly blinded them. “I am Luthien, daughter of Melian and Elu Thingol, princess of Doriath. I heard your tongue, I saw your shape and bearing. Are you nobles of the Noldor, enemies of Morgoth?” 

“We are,” said Curufin, when Celegorm choked and seemed unable to find his tongue. Luthien’s face softened. Her hair calmed from a whirlwind of tendrils to a more subdued wave. The darkness around her pooled and solidified into a traveling cloak. She seemed to glow less. Suddenly, Luthien looked much more like an ordinary girl. Celebrimbor’s age, maybe. Though it was hard to tell. 

“Well met, friends. Might I ask your names? I’m afraid I’ve met very few of your people,” said the princess. “CELEGORM,” Celegorm shouted, as if trying to make up for his difficulties earlier. “Curufin,” said Curufin cautiously, hoping her brother had not lost his wits entirely. “We come from the line of Finwe. We are children of Feanor.” She searched Luthien’s face for some trace of recognition. A twitch that meant Luthien knew how their parentage intersected with herself, her lover, the doomed quest for a Silmaril. Curufin saw no surprise or fear or excitement in Luthien’s face. She was impressed. Well, two could play at secrets. 

“Why have you left Doriath, my lady?” Curufin inquired, as if she had not seen that scrawny human, brown and bearded, standing with Finrod before all of Nargothrond. 

Luthien drew herself up to her full height. “I seek the one I love. His name is Beren, and he has gone in search of something precious. But I have lost him, and my way.” Curufin looked at Celegorm out of the corner of her eye. They were practiced at making silent agreement. Luthien, knowing their identities, had not revealed she was seeking a Silmaril. Celegorm and Curufin, knowing where Beren had gone, would not yet tell her. There was such _power_ in her. It gave Curufin a sliver of very real hope. 

Celegorm cleared his throat. He seemed to have found a semblance of his typical charm. “My sister and I reside in the hidden city of Nargothrond. If you return with us, you could gather information and provisions for your journey.” 

Luthien agreed to visit Nargothrond, to get her bearings and seek news of her lover. She removed her shimmering cloak of darkness, and admitted that she had no other baggage. Curufin folded the strange thing and placed it into her saddle bag. It had a silkiness like water, or like running a hand through new brushed hair. 

The sunlight beat down through the trees. Despite removing her heavy cloak, Luthien sagged with fatigue. She asked if she could ride with one of them, and Celegorm looked like he might keel over at the prospect of Luthien’s arms around his waist. Luthien rode with Curufin.

They were deep in the woods, and spent a night under the trees before they reached Nargothrond. Luthien slid from Curufin’s horse, curled up, and seemed to sleep immediately. Huan - who had been sniffing her enthusiastically since they met - pressed his huge body against the princess of Doriath.

“Huan misses Orome,” said Celegorm. He and Curufin had pushed their bed rolls together, so they could whisper like children. “Luthien must smell more like a Vala than anything he’s encountered on these shores.” “She is more like a Vala than anything he’s encountered on these shores. She’s strong,” said Curufin. “I know,” said Celegorm. “I felt it.” Curufin’s mind had been whirring with possibilities since Luthien stepped out of the shadows. She whispered in her brother’s ear: “The girl has raw power unlike anything I’ve ever seen! Her hair, her cloak, her voice!” Curufin paused. She rarely admitted to fear, but her next thought scared her a little. “Luthien might actually be able to put a dent in Morgorth’s crown.” 

Celegorm looked at Luthien’s sleeping form. “I believe it. But she’ll get herself killed following that human. Who knows where he and Finrod ended up.” Celegorm rolled onto his back.“At least I understand now why Beren would agree to such an insane bargain - a Silmaril for Luthien. Oooh, I see why he wants her.” “I know,” said Curufin shortly. Celegorm had always been enraptured by women who could out drink him, out fight him, and outwit him. Curufin had a sinking feeling that Luthien could do at least two out of three. 

As it turned out, the glowing girl would best them both easily. 


	3. More Evil Deeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes legends grow up and around cracks in the history. Sometimes there are stories under stories.

They rode the last stretch to Nargothrond, Luthien’s grip hot around Curufin’s waist. Celegorm, settling into his customary mode of seduction, engaged the princess in lively conversation. He even made Luthien her laugh a few times, a real laugh that Curufin felt vibrate down her back. Huan padded beside them, licking Luthien’s foot at frequent intervals. Curufin concentrated on the paths that lay before them - herself, her brother, Luthien. They were all one deception deep. 

They arrived at one of Nargothrond’s most secretive entrances. Curufin picked paths through rarely traveled caves, with twists and turns that had confused her not so long ago. Luthien gazed around the passageways with interest. “These remind me of home,” she said, indicating that stone trees with their creeping vines and hanging moss, so lifelike you expected them to be soft to the touch. “Can we see King Finrod now?” asked Luthien. “I would like to compliment him on his craftsmanship. And ask after any news of Beren.”

“I thought you might want to eat and wash before we do,” said Curufin smoothly. “We can rest and clean up at our private apartments.” Luthien murmured her assent, still craning her neck to glimpse the high cave ceilings. Celegorm had gone quiet since they entered Nargothrond. He knew Curufin well enough to follow her lead. 

The suite of apartments Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor shared was empty when Curufin opened the door. She showed Luthien to the washroom next to the common area. Celegorm busied himself in the kitchen, pulling out his stores of cured meats. As far as Curufin knew, the only way in which Celegorm expressed their father’s creative genius was in his invention of the charcuterie plate. 

When they could hear the sound of splashing from the washroom, Celegorm dropped the meats and cheeses and beckoned Curufin to his side. “Do you have a plan? Do you think you can convince Luthien to abandon the human?” he hissed. Curufin replied quietly, “We just need to keep her here until we hear confirmation that Beren and Finrod are dead. Then she’ll be looking for vengeance against Morgoth, and have no desire for a Silmaril. She could be an ally. If she doesn’t throw her life away, we could join forces and use her power for a more effective attack on the Enemy.” Celegorm nodded slowly. “That makes sense. I can think of some excuse why she can’t see Finrod today. Like he had to go write another epic poem about crossing the Ice, or count all the jewelry on his person for a kingdom wide audit -” 

But Curufin wasn’t listening. She had heard the door creak open, and her son calling loudly into the apartments: “Mama? Uncle? Is that you? I thought you wouldn’t be back for a few more days.” Celegorm and Curufin froze. Curufin would not have admitted it, but in the brilliant glare of Luthien, she had forgotten about her son. She ducked out of the kitchen, trying to intercept Celebrimbor even as he dropped a pile of metallurgy books on the table and collapsed into a chair, settling in. He smiled at his mother. 

“My circlet for Orodreth is really coming along! I didn’t think you’d be back yet, but I would love your opinion on whether blue or green gems suit the new king best, you know him better than I do -” “Green,” Curufin said, cutting Celebrimbor off, hoping desperately that she could prevent her son from ever setting eyes on Luthien. It seemed to do strange things to a man.

“Perhaps you should return to the forge now, keep up your momentum!” Curufin advised her son. “No, I’m too exhausted,” said Celebrimbor. “Ooh, charcuterie!” He stole a slice of venison from Celegorm’s platter. “Celebrimbor, you should leave,” Celegorm said, low in his chest. “This is for our guest.” 

Celebrimbor’s brow knotted. “Who’s visiting who would object to me eating the charcuterie?” Curufin was contemplating how to boil down her political calculations into a single sentence that would get her son out the door, when Luthien stepped out of the washroom. 

Luthien was wearing a rather short robe that she might have imagined belonged to Curufin (it belonged to Celegorm). Even wet her hair seemed alive, waving gently in an impossible breeze. Curufin’s eyes had adjusted to the silvery glow that emanated from Luthien’s skin, but with more of it exposed she gleamed like the moon. 

Celebrimbor’s mouth was hanging open. Luthien took pity on him. “You must be Celebrimbor. You look much like your mother.” “Thank you,” Celebrimbor whispered, a little vacant behind the eyes. “I’m Luthien,” the princess continued. She must have gotten used to this kind of reaction from strangers. Their dumb-foundness at her raw beauty. “Your mother and uncle kindly offered me aid when they found me lost in the woods. I’m seeking my love, Beren the son of Barahir.” 

Celebrimbor looked even more confused. Perhaps Curufin could have jumped in then, steered the conversation in another direction. Staved off the reckoning. But Curufin felt a creeping numbness suffuse her. Could any plan to take down the Enemy really succeed, even with a creature like Luthien at its center? Morgoth had taken her grandfather, her father, and her brother (at least temporarily). Curses only multiply. Some promises feel  _ heavy _ . 

In the end, Curufin did not regret that her son was an honest person. 

“But why did you come here?” Celebrimbor asked Luthien. “I heard that when Beren and Finrod left, they headed towards Tol Sirion. They hope to reach Angband by stealth, and wrest a Silmaril from the Enemy’s grasp.” 

There was a ringing kind of silence when Celebrimbor revealed the secret Celegorm and Curufin had been hiding. Or maybe hiding wasn’t the right word. Saving for later. Still, Luthien turned on them. 

“You’ve known where Beren was this whole time? You lied to me?” Luthien cried, her hair rising around her like a living crown. She was glorious and terrible in Celegorm’s robe.

“We didn’t lie,” said Celegorm, in his most convincing voice. “We just didn’t tell you the whole truth.” Luthien looked like she was about to scream, and Curufin jumped in, her indignation flashing hot. “You weren’t completely honest with us, either! You said you were seeking Beren, but not that he was seeking a Silmaril, a matter which touches us near.” Luthien opened her mouth, but Curufin fixed her in place with her eyes. She could still startle people with their fire. 

“You must know that stealing a Silmaril from the enemy amounts to suicide. Why do you think my brothers and I haven’t tried to do so, when we have sworn an unbreakable oath to secure our father’s jewels?“ Curufin paused, made her voice dip lower. “Let’s say by some miracle your lover obtained a Silmaril. My brothers and I would not rest until we had wrenched it from your Beren’s hand. Your bride-price is our heritage. Find an easier way to take a lover, or to win over a father.” 

Luthien gave Curufin a burning look. “You don’t know my father.” 

The princess glanced from Curufin to Celegorm to Celebrimbor and back again, with mounting anger. “You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything about Beren, about our love, what we can do together! All I know is that you have lied to me, and kept me from the most precious thing in my life.” Luthien almost shook with rage. Water dripped down her back from her flying hair. It beaded on her bare legs. “I’m leaving. I demand that you return my cloak, and provide me with everything I need to reach Tol Sirion in safety, to find my love and Finrod, who I understand is a truly noble prince of the Noldor. Unlike yourselves.” 

Curufin had almost forgotten about the shimmering cloak, which she had shoved in her saddle bag. Luthien was in no position to make demands. She did not know the way to Tol Sirion, and likely could not find her way out of Nargothrond’s twisting caves without assistance. She was wearing borrowed clothes, she had no food or water. Luthien had no weapons on her person but her strange hair and her glowing skin.

Celegorm was a hunter. He was quick to spot weakness. “And what if we refuse?” he said quietly. “What?” said Luthien, startled out of fierceness. “What if we refuse to let you go?” Celegorm asked simply. There was a sudden flash of fear in Luthien’s face. Celegorm wore a long hunting knife, Curufin a finely wrought sword. (Since the time of Maedhros’ capture, they had both kept small blades hidden in the soles of their boots). “You would keep me here by force?” the princess said. Celegorm smiled without warmth. “You’ve heard of Alqualonde, haven’t you?” 

At the mention of the kinslaying, Celebrimbor broke his silence. “Uncle, that’s enough!” he cried. He looked desperately at Curufin. “Mama, you can’t be serious. It’s her choice if she wants to-” Curufin raised a hand and cut her son off. She addressed Luthien. 

“We don’t have to be enemies,” she told the princess. “You are young, but you are strong. The daughter of a Maia and a great elven king. You probably don’t even know the extent of your powers! He may be dear to you, but Beren is likely dead already. Beyond your help. If you want to show your love, seek vengeance. We could work together to fight the Enemy, to reclaim the Silmarils for their rightful owners.” 

Luthien looked rebellious, fearful and cornered. “You don’t know that he’s dead. I love him. I have to go after him.” “Stay the night,” said Celegorm. “Think our proposal over.” Curufin saw Luthien’s eyes narrow. “Your proposal?” asked Luthien, giving the word strange emphasis. Curufin cursed internally. If only Celegorm thought before he spoke. It was a delicate conversation, and Curufin had a niggling feeling the word carried a different connotation in Sindarin than in Quenya. She hastened to clarify, “I believe we could form a mighty alliance, a union between all the kingdoms of Beleriand. It would be a safer, better plan than running off to Tol Sirion alone. Stay with us, and consider it.” 

Luthien wavered. “Fine,” she said. She looked fearfully at Celegorm, whose hand was resting on the hilt of his hunting knife. “But I consider myself a prisoner. You two lied to me, misled me, kept me from my true purpose. I’ve been betrayed by many men who claimed to love me. They put me in cages for my own protection.” Luthien glared at Curufin. “I never thought a woman would treat me the same way.” 

“You’re a guest,” Curufin said coldly. “You can have Celebrimbor’s room,” she added, pointing. Luthien stalked across the apartment and slammed the door behind her. Curufin heard the scrape of the lock. Huan, forgotten under the table, whined loudly. 

—

Luthien didn’t emerge for the rest of the evening. Curufin sat at the table in the common room, furious that things had spun out of her control. Celebrimbor and his bumbling innocence. Celegorm and his veiled threats. The dog who seemed to be trying to scratch his way to Luthien through the heavy wooden door. 

When Luthien stepped out of the darkness, her power had felt so real. For a few shining days a new path had stretched before Curufin. Nargothrond was her home and she was grateful. But a glorious alliance, dealing the Enemy a crushing blow, removing the weight of the oath from her family’s shoulders. She had been certain Luthien was the key. Now everything had turned sour. 

Celegorm was eating half the charcuterie plate by himself in the kitchen. “I need a drink,” he announced suddenly, interrupting Curufin’s thoughts. “I need some  _ company _ .” Curufin’s brother emerged from the kitchen with a bottle of something dark, and left their suite without another word.

Across the table Celebrimbor tried unsuccessfully to bury himself in his metallurgy books, He was bouncing his leg nervously. “Spit it out,” Curufin snapped at her son, after the tenth time she heard Celebrimbor make a half-sound in his throat. 

“Do you really think Luthien will make common cause with you? She won’t be able to think of you as anything but a villain, now that you’ve placed yourself between her and her great love,” said Celebrimbor. Curufin snorted. She was tired, and angry with herself. It was an anger that bounced. “Since when do you know anything about love?” she said, a bit unkindly. Celebrimbor’s face heated. “I- Since- you know what I mean! Everyone knows that people do crazy things in the name of love! You must have felt that way once. About my father.” 

Curufin turned her head slowly to look at Celebrimbor. He was flustered, flushed with embarrassment. She had thought they were past this, the constant questions, the transparent attempts to secure some shred of information. “Your father and I loved each other, for a short time in a country far away,” Curufin told her son. As she always had. “But loving him never bent or broke me. It never compelled me to  _ do  _ anything. There are higher callings than your so-called great love.” 

“Like what?” demanded Celebrimbor. Curufin sighed. “Family. Duty. Freedom.” “Those are pretty words,” said Curufin’s son. “They sound empty tonight.”

And they were quiet. Curufin sat at the table unmoving, and looked at the door to Celebrimbor’s room, and thought of Luthien behind it. After a while, Celebrimbor touched her shoulder. “Mama, you should go rest. You’ve been traveling for days.” “No, I have to speak with Luthien, before she tries to leave again, I want to - “ “I’ll wake you if she opens the door,” said Celebrimbor. “Please, Mama. Things may look different in the morning.” Celebrimbor’s eyes were silver-wide and earnest. He probably felt bad for bringing up his father, for saying Curufin’s words were empty. He was really a gentler person than he should have been. 

Curufin left her son and Huan keeping watch over Luthien. It had been a long day, a long year, a long decade. She collapsed on her bed. 

\--

Curufin wove dreams, or dreams wove through her. She was back at the beach at Alqualonde, gasping for air as Celegorm held her head under the water, the matted blood coming away red - 

Red, red and she labored to bring her son into the world, her mother's hair in the light, her mother’s voice in her ear as that beautiful, ugly wail went up -

And there was wailing in the air as they fled from the rich land between two rivers, people and livestock and grain baskets, the fire glowing orange and yellow-gold on the horizon and - 

Finrod and his golden, outstretched hands, Finrod kissing her cheek and Finrod standing resigned above his people, slipping away in his disguise and his well-wrought armor -

Celebrimbor, tall and strong and working in the forge, tinkering with something Curufin can’t quite make out, and when he held it up for her approval it shimmered and shifted from a circlet to a pile of rings to the shape of a baby with a cry like grinding metal, a mechanical boy who blinked at her with fire in his eyes -

Who abruptly became Luthien, the glowing goddess of Doriath, who opened her mouth and began to sing. 

And then Curufin dreamed no more.


	4. The End of Some Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Curufin loses everything.

When Curufin woke she knew something was wrong. She hadn’t dreamed like that in years, since Valinor maybe, since she was pregnant with Celebrimbor and in her dreams she could smell and taste and see in colors she could barely remember. 

In the caves of Nargothrond it could be hard to measure time without the sun, but Curufin could tell it was morning, maybe even afternoon. Her mouth tasted odd and dry. She had sweat through her bedsheets, there was drool on her pillow. She never slept like this. 

The last of the dream haze fell away, and Curufin remembered Luthien. She shot out of bed and wrenched open her door. Celebrimbor was standing guard, he said he would fetch Curufin if Luthien opened the door, if she attempted to run off after Beren without at least another discussion of an alliance - 

The door to Celebrimbor’s room was open. Celebrimbor lay on the floor across the threshold. 

There was a horrible moment where Curufin wondered if her son was dead. If Luthien had some weapon all along, if her hair could do more than Curufin realized, if Celegorm’s stupid hand on his stupid knife had meant more to Luthien than intended. Then Curufin might lose her mind. “Celebrimbor!” she cried, and fell to her knees by her son’s form. She turned him face up. Celebrimbor’s eyes danced under his eyelids. He was dreaming. 

Curufin yelled her son’s name again. She shook him, she pinched him, she slapped his face. She whispered in his ear: “I’m sorry I never took you to meet your father. I just wanted you to be mine.” Finally she poured a pitcher of water over his head, and Celebrimbor emerged from the path of dreams with a gasp. By that point, Curufin had determined that Luthien was gone. So was her cloak of darkness. So was Huan. 

“What happened?” Curufin asked her son, as Celebrimbor dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Holy mother of Manwe…” said Celebrimbor, and Curufin clicked her tongue. She disliked when her son called on the Valar, even when swearing. 

Celebrimbor looked around their apartments wildly. “Luthien! Where did she-“ “I don’t know,” said Curufin. Celebrimbor’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry, I know you wanted another chance with her.” “Just tell me what happened,” said Curufin. Celebrimbor shivered. He was soaked through. “After you went to rest, I stayed out here and kept watch. I was reading. But Huan kept scratching at the door, and coming over and nipping at me, and then whimpering in front of the door again. Finally I knocked on the door, and Luthien opened it. I asked if she would mind terribly letting the dog in. She smiled and I couldn’t look away for a little bit. Then she said thank you and Huan went in and she shut the door. I went back to reading, and even later I thought I heard murmuring, like Luthien was talking to someone, which seemed strange. So I went over to the door, just curious. Then she started to sing. And I felt so tired. Like my bones couldn’t hold me up anymore. I remember sinking down to the floor, and her voice was like every lullaby you ever sang me. And then I woke up to water on my face.” 

“I only ever sang you two lullabies,” said Curufin. “I know,” Celebrimbor smiled. “When Luthien sang, it sounded like both at once.” 

—

As soon as she heard Celebrimbor’s story, Curufin tore through the caves of Nargothrond, still in her sleep-mussed clothes, in search of Celegorm. It was already too late to find Luthien, too late to keep her from her love and her suicidal quest by any means: force or persuasion, politics or reason or terror. 

Curufin pounded on the door of a particularly handsome scout and dug Celegorm out of his bed. But it was too late for them too. News traveled fast in Nargothrond. The story was spreading. Luthien had appeared before Orodreth in the throne room early in the morning, seeking Finrod. She was guided by Huan and wearing her dark shimmering cloak. The princess told Orodreth and his advisors that she sought Beren, that the evil children of Feanor had waylaid her, misled her, and kept her as a prisoner in Nargothrond. She claimed Celegorm had proposed to her, and that Curufin was pushing for an alliance through marriage, though Luthien had no desire for any husband besides Beren. Orodreth had sent the maligned princess on to her great love. 

Curufin dragged Celegorm away from his latest lover and led the way back to their apartments in a glacial silence. The eyes and the whispers pursued them through the caves. People could turn on you so quickly. Curufin had learned that long ago, watching her father whip up crowds in Tirion.  _ Kidnapper _ ,  _ pervert _ ,  _ craven  _ the people of Nargothrond hissed at Celegorm.  _ Coward _ ,  _ snake _ ,  _ ungrateful bitch _ , that they reserved for Curufin. She bared her teeth. They would never know how much it had cost her to accept Finrod’s generosity, to give him the secret of her need. 

“I take it Luthien escaped,” said Celegorm. “Deductive brilliance, as always,” said Curufin acidly. They walked on in silence, past more suspicious looks. Someone spat at their feet.  _ If Finrod dies you’re to blame! Kinslayers twice over!  _ “We should probably pack our bags,” said Celegorm. 

—

They had gathered up most of their things when Orodreth arrived at their apartments. The king had most of the advisory council with him and a cadre of highly trained scouts. Celegorm winked at the scout he’d spent the night with, who had the decency to blush. The new king didn’t notice. He was trembling with anger. 

“You two!” cried Orodreth. “You kidnapped the daughter of a foreign dignitary. You kept her a prisoner in my kingdom without my knowledge. You attempted to force her into marriage!” Curufin closed her eyes. “I’d tell you Luthien’s complaints were due to a combination of language barriers, lack of trust, and her inability to play the long game. But I doubt you want to hear our side of the story,” she said. “You are correct!” thundered Orodreth. Curufin had never heard him raise his voice before. “After this diplomatic fiasco, and the fact that my brother is likely dead due to your political stunts, I never want to see or hear from you ever again.” “It wasn’t a political stunt, we were pointing out basic flaws in Finrod’s planning -” Celegorm began, but Orodreth yelled, “Out! I want you out of my kingdom!” Celegorm shut up. 

“What about our people?” Curufin asked quietly, shouldering her large pack. Celebrimbor emerged from his room, fastening the straps on his own baggage. Some of the anger fell from Orodreth’s face. “Your people can stay. As long as they support my rule, they can remain valued citizens of Nargothrond.” Curufin nodded. At least she wouldn’t be responsible for anyone else losing their home. Again. 

Orodreth looked at Celebrimbor, who had swung his bag onto his back. The king said, “You can stay as well, Celebrimbor. I’m not one to blame children for the evil deeds of their parents. And you have brought much talent and energy to our city.” 

“I- I can? You mean I could- But I want -” Celebrimbor stammered, and the ground fell out from beneath Curufin’s feet. She had always been certain of her son. He had always been  _ hers.  _ Hers alone. Her mechanical boy. 

Celebrimbor had not yet managed to form a coherent sentence. In the past few hours he had succumbed to the dream powers of a half-goddess, heard his mother and uncle accused of treason and worse, and assumed that he would have to abandon the place where he had built a new life. 

Curufin forced her mouth to open. “You should stay here, Celebrimbor,” she said. “It’s safe. You can work on projects that you love. You’ll have friends and teachers around you. None of this was your fault.” 

Celebrimbor said nothing, just looked at her with his silver-wide eyes. Though he was much taller than she was down, Celebrimbor put his arms around his mother and buried his head in her shoulder. Curufin stroked his hair, and told him quietly that she loved him. After a moment Celegorm wrapped his arms around them both, and squeezed. “You wouldn’t like Himring anyway,” Celegorm told his nephew. “It’s cold as balls and Maedhros screams in the night.” Curufin swatted him on the shoulder, and for a moment everything was alright. 

“This is all very touching,” said Orodreth, who was regrettably still there, along with his entourage. “But I would like the kidnappers who betrayed my brother to leave my kingdom immediately.” 

—

Celegorm and Curufin rode away from Nargothrond. They spurred their horses north, towards Himring, the lands of their brothers. Where they would have gone in the first place, but for orcs and darkness and Celebrimbor’s hopeful face. 

“Well that went to shit quickly,” said Celebrimbor as their path through the trees narrowed. “I really thought you might pull it off. Craft some grand union with Doriath, plan a full frontal assault on the enemy. But Maedhros was always the best at diplomacy, maybe we should tell him to try his hand at it. Ha, hand, he’d like that one. Then again, I guess we could have played it differently. We could have told Luthien the truth in the first place. Or left her to fend for herself in the woods. Or we could have actually locked her door from the outside once we got her to Nargothrond, or kept watch over her ourselves, with weapons -” “I don’t want to talk about it,” snapped Curufin. She had never been away from her son for more than a month or two at a time. He was grown, but he was still so  _ young _ . Something in the very core of her ached.

“Suit yourself,” said Celegorm, and they rode north for days with only the sound of birdsong for company.

They were winding their way through the woods along the border with Doriath when they heard voices up ahead. Curufin had been quiet on the road, turning over in her mind all that had transpired, feeling by turns angry and guilty and wronged and bereaved. She kept it to herself. Celegorm had resorted to speaking to the birds out of boredom.

Celegorm cocked his head in the direction of the voices, and Curufin nodded. They spurred their horses forward, rounding a bend so they could see farther up the path. And there were three figures, plain as day. A scrawny-looking man in dingy attire. An incredibly large dog with markings only seen in Valinor. And a woman with a corona of curls who was  _ glowing _ . 

Curufin drew in a breath sharply. Could the woman who had sparked such wild hope in her, such impossible dreams, and then blown them all to bits, really be in front of her? Luthien, who in her love and terror and distrust had cost Curufin her home? 

“That son of a bitch,” said Celegorm, meaning Huan, who had also betrayed him. Curufin’s anger suddenly blew hot - as it sometimes did, it was an evil part of her - and she snapped her reins. Her horse leapt forward, and she raced towards the trio. Celegorm, cursing, followed. 

“Luthien!” Curufin screamed, drawing closer to her fellow travelers, who turned around in sudden fear. The human went for his sword. Luthien just made a surprised face, and then Curufin was so close she could grab the princess by her magnificent hair and _ twist _ . 

Luthien cried out in pain, and they were a tangle of bodies and horses and braids as Curufin yelled, “You cost me my son!” She was vaguely aware of Celegorm riding into the scrum, attempting to place himself between Beren and the mess of hands and hair and pain that Curufin and Luthien had become. 

And then something slammed into Curufin, loosening her grip on Luthien and knocking her from her horse. She was startled to realize that the projectile was the man. Beren. He was grimy and bleary-eyed and much stronger than he looked. “Don’t you touch her! You already killed Finrod!” said the man, and his fingers closed on Curufin’s throat. Her callused hands searched for purchase on Beren’s grip and found none, and her head was swimming and Huan was barking and Celegorm was shouting, he might have been waving a spear around? Curufin needed air, her vision was going and Beren kept pressing. Oh, how disappointed her father would be if his only daughter ended like this. 

There was a blinding flash of light. Curufin had thought the void would be black, not white. Then she managed to draw breath and realized she wasn’t dead. Beren was splayed next to her on the grass, rubbing his eyes. Celegorm blinked dazedly from the ground as well. He had dropped his spear, and now Huan was sitting squarely on his chest. 

Luthien looked down on all of them, the brilliance of her skin slowly returning to its normal soft glow. “That’s enough,” said the princess sharply, and reached out a hand to her lover. She raised Beren to his feet. “Finrod chose his own path. These two may have lied to me, and threatened me, but they never hurt me in Nargothrond.” Her eyes met Curufin’s. “She doesn’t deserve to die for pulling my hair. I think there must have been extenuating circumstances.” 

Curufin swallowed painfully. She could still feel Beren’s hands around her neck. Her eyes welled up at the movement. “I had to leave Celebrimbor,” she croaked. Luthien knelt down in front of Curufin. “I’m sorry. He’s a sweet kid.” The princess smiled. “Must take after his father.” Celegorm laughed, and Beren scowled at him. “It was a good joke,” said Celegorm, raising his hands to show he was unarmed. 

Luthien helped Curufin up then, and Huan removed himself from Celegorm’s chest. Beren drew the princess to him, and pressed a kiss to her temple. Curufin walked shakily to Celegorm’s side, and he gave her hand a quick squeeze. The four stood on the path and looked at each other, a little awkwardly, now that they were no longer trying to kill each other. 

Beren cleared his throat. “Luthien and I have a quest to complete. We could use your horses for our journey. How about you give us your mounts, and we forget that anyone laid hands on anyone else?” “Fine,” rasped Curufin, who knew she had started it. 

Celegorm groaned. “Great, I guess we’ll walk the rest of the way to Himring.” Curufin and Celegorm untied their saddlebags from the horses, and slung them over their own backs. 

“We could have been allies,” said Curufin softly to Luthien, as she handed her the reins. “I know,” Luthien replied. She looked at Beren, with a softness that was almost sharp. “But my first allegiance is to my love.” 

Luthien and Beren rode ahead and away, into their heroic future, which contained death and darkness, but also impossibly beautiful peace and joy. Celegorm and Curufin were left to live with the consequences of their pasts, their oaths, their evil deeds. 

\--

Years and years later, Curufin would set foot in Doriath, Luthien’s former home. After the battle, as she bled and bled on the cold stone floor of Menegroth, she would see the soaring stone trees and delicate stone blossoms and think of her time in Nargothrond. And the hair she had once grasped in her hand. And most of all, her son. 

  
  


THE END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this semi-sequel to "Little Father, Little Daughter." I couldn't get female Curufin out of my head, and wondered how she would react to the whole messy situation in Nargothrond. I just really wanted her and Luthien in a room together. More women in Tolkien! On an unrelated note, I will die on the head canon hill that Celegorm invented the charcuterie plate.


End file.
